


I Found Everything in You

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, First Time, M/M, Post-Episode s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, Samulet, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is overwhelmed with emotions and love after the stressful events of the fog and seeing God. Alone in their motel room together, he shares a moment with Sam, starting something new that he should've done a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Found Everything in You

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't /not/ write something for this episode. This is what my brain came up with. Hope you like it, Suze <3

Sam sits on the bed, hands carefully folded in his lap. His head is tilted down and his eyes are obscured by his ridiculous hair, but Dean can clearly see his lips and how they wobble. Sam isn’t a flight risk, but he looks like one.

 

He won’t leave, though. Dean knows it for sure. 

 

It’s early enough in the morning that the sun hasn’t woken yet, early enough that the entire motel is silent save for settling noises and the distant thrum of the highway. Dean takes a step and a breath. He’s feeling something with a terrifying, absolute certainty, and he wants to share it with Sam. Doesn’t know why it never happened before, not once in every single second of their lives.

 

He sits on the bed next to Sam, leaving not an iota of space between them. Sam’s heat sinks into his body, and Sam’s smell, pleasant and familiar, curls around him like a safety blanket. 

 

Dean clears his throat. Sam’s head raises just a fraction, his lip stilling.

 

“You kept it,” Dean states, and it isn’t a question. His voice is rough, as if he hasn’t spoken in years. “You took it out of the trash and you’ve had it right in your pocket, all these years.”

 

“It hasn’t always been in my pocket,” Sam responds quietly, after a few seconds of strange silence tick by. “Sometimes it was around my neck.”

 

Dean’s throat is stuffed full because of Sam, his eyes irritated and burning because of the emotions surging through him, emotions he has ever only felt for his brother. He thinks maybe he should be scared, should be concerned that he has only ever been able to be a human being with Sam, to feel love with Sam, but it’s comforting to him. It’s real.

 

He recalls the image of Sam standing in the rain, face crumpled in betrayal as Dean walks away, intending to put miles between them. He thinks of Sam, crushed because of him, feeling the warm metal of the amulet against his chest as Dean runs.

 

He turns without thinking and buries his face in Sam’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sam,” he breathes against his brother’s skin, and he feels a deeper feeling, thicker like blood, seep out of him, unlocked and freed for the first time. “God, Sam.”

 

Sam makes a choked-off noise and turns toward him, curling his big paws around Dean with so much care it makes Dean want to laugh. It’s like Sam’s afraid of breaking him. It’s so absurd and so perfectly Sam. 

 

Right now, he doesn’t want butterfly touches and petal soft looks. He wants more. He wants to get his point across, but he’s too damn pathetic to just say it with words.

 

So he says it with his hands. He unfurls himself from Sam’s embrace, and before Sam can set watery, disappointed eyes on him, he pushes Sam back onto the bed, manhandling his brother with the grace and elegance of a drunken stoner. He grabs Sam by his hips and marvels at how thin and delicate Sam’s frame feels underneath him. Sam is a force to be reckoned with, fast and cunning, but Dean can see the sleek beauty of him now, wants to see more.

 

Sam is silent and big-eyed while Dean works. He arranges Sam until he’s flat on his back with his head on the pillow, hair fanning out around his face. He gets on his knees on the bed and straddles Sam, looking down at him and uncensoring his eyes, allowing Sam to see the truth. There’s too much between them to be hiding behind any walls. There’s too much between them to hide the way his soul craves.

 

“Sammy,” he says, quieter than he’d intended. He reaches out and freezes, uncertainty aborting his movements. He takes a shaky breath and pushes forward despite his reservations, curling his fingers in Sam’s hair. 

 

He leans forward until their noses are brushing. Sam still hasn’t said a word, hasn’t moved. He looks into Sam’s eyes and sees the same enormous, heart-swallowing thing that is making his brain chant  _ Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam _ . It feels so inarticulate, so rude to call it  _ want, _ but he has no other words. Perhaps  _ need  _ would be more accurate.

 

“Took me a long time to figure it out,” Dean whispers, feeling Sam’s breaths puff against his face, “but I don’t think I’m built for anyone else. Just can’t do it anymore.”

 

Sam doesn’t blink. He’s searching Dean’s eyes for something, he’s processing, he’s got that intelligent glint to his eyes, the one he gets when he needs to figure something out and figure it out fast. He reaches up with the same childlike anxiety as Dean and cups Dean’s face. 

 

“You’ve gotta mean it,” Sam finally rushes out, somehow breathless, “because I can’t do this halfway, don’t wanna do it halfway.”

 

Dean chuckles. “You never could do anything halfway, Sammy,” he says, and Sam smiles, his eyes filling up with tears, his cheeks rosy red.

 

Dean frowns, opening his mouth to try to comfort Sam but Sam’s lips prevent him from speaking. Dean lets out a small noise of surprise but gets with the program immediately, opening his mouth wider and pressing down against his brother, controlling the kiss. 

 

It’s strange how easy it is. Sam’s mouth is new and exciting and wonderful, but more than that, it’s familiar. It’s home. He feels it should be rushed or awkward or maybe even violent, but it just is. 

 

Sam leans back and opens his eyes. They’re shuttered, hooded, pupils dilated, and Dean slides his hand under Sam’s shirt, pressing the palm of his hand flat against Sam’s abdomen.

 

He tilts his head, aiming for Sam’s mouth, but Sam pulls away again, reaching down and snapping all the buttons of his shirt before shrugging out of it. His undershirt is gone a moment later, and Sam lays back, quiet, compliant, and utterly pink, biting at the inside of his cheek.

 

Dean makes a purring noise and noses at Sam’s cheek before taking Sam’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it until it’s sensitive and red and shiny. He places his hands on Sam’s hips and rubs the tips of his fingers into Sam’s skin, feeling Sam shudder underneath him, swallowing up Sam’s desperate moan. 

 

Dean presses one last, firm kiss to Sam’s mouth before he leans back on his haunches and gets an eyeful of his brother. He watches Sam’s tummy go up and down, up and down, fast as a rabbit’s heartbeat. He looks at Sam’s nipples, pebbled and peaked. Sam has a downy little happy trail disappearing behind his belt, fifteen scars that Dean all recognizes, and eight moles. 

 

He’s as familiar as the back of Dean’s hand and yet Dean has never really looked before, not like this. Sure, he watched Sam go from a five pound baby, underweight and premature, to a knobby, clumsy teenager, to a strong, tall man, sure, he was proud as all hell to be able to witness it, to see people of all genders eye Sam and lick their lips, but this was different. 

 

Sam is his now. He was before, but now it is a fact etched onto their hearts, a second tattoo tying them together. This time, he looks because Sam wants him to. He looks and he sees the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on. He wonders if he was somehow blinded before. He never wants to look away, never wants to stop touching, never wants to be separated from Sam, even if it’s just a room between them.

 

He rubs his hands up and down Sam’s sides, watching Sam’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Dean’s callouses sliding across his body. 

 

He crawls across Sam and kisses his exposed throat, takes a long inhale and memorizes the smell of the sweat on Sam’s skin. He reaches into his own pocket and pulls out the necklace. He slips it over his head until it hangs between them, swaying like a pendulum.

 

Sam’s eyes open and move down to the pendant. Sam sniffles and curls a hand around it, using it to pull Dean down and onto him. 

 

Dean carefully slips out of his clothes, making sure to leave the amulet on. He helps Sam out of his jeans and boxers and does some more admiring. 

 

They don’t do anything that night except lie next to each other, touching and re-memorizing, soaking up the warmth of each other’s presence. They trade light kisses and indescribable looks. The language traded between their bodies says more than words ever could. 

 

Sam dozes nestled against Dean’s chest, a leg slipped between Dean’s. Dean has a hand on the curve of Sam’s upper thigh, and he squeezes at the soft flesh there, marveling that he gets to touch, that he is lucky enough to be blessed with Sam’s unconditional love. He holds Sam in his arms and shuts his eyes, his heart feeling light and pure for the first time in too long. He’s sure it’s Sam’s influence on him. 

 

He is happy to have a future now, not scared, not bitter. He is happy to dream of touching Sam, of seeing Sam smile, of being inside Sam and moving with him, connected and heated. He thinks his whole life he was looking for Sam even though he was right there. He found him, time and time again, for different reasons, different feelings, but now he has found everything in Sam. He has found everything he will ever need. 

 

Come morning, there will be a world to save. There will be people to speak to, people to save, people to fight. But for right now, none of that reaches them. None of it matters to Dean. As long as he has Sam, everything will be alright.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really wish we had more than a minute of Dean with the Samulet. If we don't get a scene in the next episode of them talking about it and of Dean wearing it again, I will vault myself into the sun.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, comments are super appreciated [big hug]


End file.
